Xieronis Valkyrion
Eyelids fluttered open slowly, sluggish bats of dark lashes trying as they might to veil her dual-toned eyes from the light of the morning sun. Her body aches, brows furrowing as she turns her body into a burlap sack filled with fruit--- an oblivious merchant made wise by the groaning of the waking woman. '' ''"Hey! What are you doing?!" '' He exclaims, fingers greedily wrapping around the lip of the sack until it rips out from under her. By instinct alone do her hands meet weathered tesserae, nails curling once the refugee was finally able to compose herself. Staring up at this man: she notices first and foremost his nose, large and protruding. It was mottled with dirt, obviously smeared from a hard morning's labor. '' "Are you daft?!" '' Clutching that sack of goods, his sandal-bearing foot swinging forward in impact against her shoulder. She falters: forced back against her calves until the world spins again. Why was her head aching so terribly? Where...even was she? '' Scrambling to find succor in her own shadow, her head hangs and she begins to crawl as she might to get unto her feet. Her hands, much like the merchant's nose, were mottled with mud...and something ichorous. '' ''An attempt is made to stand, failed attempt after failed attempt leaving this lost soul irritated: trying as she might to make her limbs move. And then, a hand crosses her field of vision: a smooth, sun-kissed palm. '' '"Are you alright?"' '' A gentle voice stirs her eyes upward despite the beaming sun's presence--- lighting up the silhouette of a modest priest garbed in cottons. "You look unwell...let's get you inside. It won't do to have one of Sanctus' children in such a state." Xieronis Valkyrion (né Viatre) is a human woman who, due to mysterious events, ended up in Nova Carthago without knowing her name--- her origins--- or how she ended up in the Holy City. She has lived for the latter part of nearly a decade, within the haven of the Theatrum: forced into a slumber by the Proximus Vitem Mortem, Alexander Valkyrion. The Beginning A nameless refugee dropped into Nova Carthago, the woman who would one day become the Primus Aetherius was taken in by the Proximian Faith as little more than another subject of the Laity. Without any remembrance of her origin, her name--- the Priest bestowed upon her a 'God-given Name' by which she might live: Xieronis Viatre. The name gifted upon her is said to mean 'Worshipper of the Sun' whereas her surname is a bastardization of the word 'Viaticus:' meaning 'to journey.' Her day to day life subsisted mainly of the graciousness of the Church and repaying them for their nurturing with labor and prayer. It is no secret that once someone gives themselves unto worship of the Gods that they are gifted the use of Divine Magic: and there was no such difference when it came to Xieronis, who began to use those powers in assistance of the priests during blessing. Though it was during many of the latter rituals that the clergy began to notice something distinct about the woman. Every few moons, the laywoman would seem to enter an immovable trance: hands nursed against her chest and eyes thrown back. The words that escaped her lips were not ones that could ever be considered coherent by their standards--- and the longer it carried on, the more concern that they felt was warranted. Was she possessed? Or was this something more? The Gift Garnering the attention of the Proximus by request of audience, it was revealed only through his wisdom that the woman they had taken in was given the gift of Divine Prophecy: with his daughter, Alexandria Valkyrion in tow. This news heralded the transition of Xieronis' life from a simple temple within the city's walls, to instead travel beyond the borders of Nova Carthago and into the reaches of the Theatrum. It was here that she would spend nearly a decade of her life--- at the mercy of a power she did not understand, and isolated from the world around her. For what reason did Alexander feel the need to keep her here, locked away from the world? The Theatrum remained virtually empty save for Xieronis' presence and that of the Proximian Guard--- but there was one saving grace that came in the form of curiosity; Alexandria visited the Holy Site to see for her own eyes this supposed prophet. Upon her flight, she would notice that the Mountainous Holy Site was...muted. The aforementioned soldiers were placed at the sole entrance and exit, ever statuesque. There were living quarters, fountains and wildlife...but naught else. During this time, the frequency of prophecies had started to become alarming. Short, small spurts of a fragmented message that, at first, made no sense. It was particularly useful that the prophet was able to meticulously orate every single one of those messages upon being prompted: for it would have been far too tedious to send for translations during a time where they seemed to happen almost bi-weekly. It was more...gibberish, to her--- more of that archaic esotericism that echoes in her mind and through her mouth: the messages that could be remembered, and repeated--- but never by her translated. It was over that period of time that a friendship bloomed betwixt the Proximus' blood, Alexandria and this soul both cursed and blessed with this Gods-given talent. Not only did they both understand the feelings of loneliness to an immeasurable depth, but they were able to confide in one another: to speak of things that Xieronis never had another to speak of to. They shared in the splendor of worship and the passion of Faith. The Cataclysmic Prophecy Their closeness came upon the tail-coats of the Valkyrion Civil War, and with the growing friendship--- and worsening regularity of prophetic occurrences-- Alexander decided to bestow a true family name upon Xieronis as a means to ensure that he could gain her trust and loyalty by giving her a family where before she had none. A final prophecy had been heralded during the restoration of the whole of Nova Carthago in its wake. This prophecy came with visions--- flashes of static images and a garden of fire and brimstone. Though she did not understand the words by which the Gods communed, there was no mistaking it: there was something coming, whether it was the consequence of actions brought about by Man...or the inevitable. A noticeable cautiousness would meet the Proximus upon his return to gather the divine message, and once its warnings were repeated to Him, there was cause for caution. It would not do him any good to simply kill Xieronis--- nay, she had a rare gift, and one that had rewarded them oft-times. Would it be prudent, then, to allow her to remain here? No... Alexandria was a variable, and it could not be risked that this woman would confess the growing shadows in her heart to his daughter--- to anyone. Thus did he make use of the Proximian Icon to put Xieronis into slumber: a coma by which she could not be awoken. 1000 Years During her sleep, Xieronis' prophetic static had become something more akin to a movie reel. It was a play of all the potential outcomes, the choices one could make that would sway the tides of Destiny. She saw glimpses of the past of the Illia--- even faceless images of a man, woman...and a child, framed together for a family portrait. What did any of it mean? Not that she could ask. Everything was darkness except these varied flashes of light, and there were times in her mindscape that the prophet would be forced to look away lest she descend into madness. One's thoughts were, of course, the most dangerous. Xieronis.png